


You won

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Ivar [7]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Dom/sub, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Sitting, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, dubcon, sub!Ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 19:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: I got a tumblr request for a reader insert Ivar imagine in which he goes to war against a queen and she defeats him. Instead of killing him, she takes him prisoner and things get smutty.Hope you like it, anon! :DPlease note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	You won

The prince calls to you from his chariot, his strong voice carrying over the sounds of the ongoing battle around you.

“You've put up a good fight, (y/n). It's been very entertaining but now it's over.” He doesn't seem too bothered by the fact that he's lost even more warriors than you have; he's confident that victory will be his. _So cocky. I'll wipe that smile of his face_. You adjust the way your fingers grip around the sword and he takes this as his cue; the prince charges at you, axe held high.

 

Ivar lies on his back in the mud, his head probably still ringing from the impact. He is a good fighter, there's no doubt about it, but he's also very short tempered.; so you danced around him, provoking him until he lashed out and offered you an opening. There was a loud ringing of metal on metal as your sword landed against his helmet. _Imagine if he could learn to control himself_. The thought sends a shiver down your spine in some mix of horror and curiosity. There's shouting and movement around you as his remaining warriors are rounded up and herded towards your villa. Ivar is still on his back, eyes closed as he begins to scream out his anger. He pounds his fists into the wet ground, sending splashes of mud flying through the air. You watch in silence as he continues to flail. Eventually, he tires himself out and quiets down. You gesture towards one of your shieldmaidens and she leads Ivar's horse and chariot to him, stopping right next to the exhausted prince.

“Get back in your chariot and don't even think about trying to escape.” Half a dozen of your most trusted warriors surround him to make sure that he follows closely behind you as you turn your horse back towards the villa.

 

You sit on your bed, legs crossed as you rub a soothing oil into your palms and listen to the crackling of the fire. There's a knock on the door.

“Queen (y/n)? We have brought the prisoner, as you asked.”

“And the wine.” The familiar voice of a girl chimes in. You allow a wide smile to briefly light up your face before composing yourself again.

“Come in.” You say while putting the bottle back on the bedside table. A servant girl enters, carrying a flagon and two cups. After her comes two men with Ivar between them. While the girl pours a cup of wine the men come to a halt right in front of you. You take a few seconds to appraise him. There's a bruise where you hit him earlier and he's covered from head to toe in dried mud. He looks furious.

“Would you like to clean up, Ivar?” He glares at you, his blue orbs standing out even more than usual from among the streaks of dirt. You make eye contact with one of the men and nod towards one of the chairs in the furthest corner of the room.

“Set him down on that chair and prepare my tub. Bring a robe as well.” Your people immediately set to completing their tasks; they set the prince down, bring out the wooden tub and then leave to fetch what you requested. You get up to give Ivar a cup of wine and he reluctantly accepts it.

“I don't get any actual clothes?” He mutters after swallowing a mouthful of it. You sit down on the bed again before answering.

“You won't need any.” His eyes look ready to pop out of his skull and you bite your bottom lip to stop the laughter that wants to escape.

“Don't worry, by the time I'm done with you your clothes will be clean and dry.” The servants return with both the water and the robe and they set to warming the bathwater in a large kettle hanging over the fire.

“Let's give the prince some privacy.” You say and gesture for everyone to turn their backs to Ivar while he undresses; his body is for your eyes only. There's a series of thuds as his heavy clothes hit the floor and a pleasant warmth spreads through your body at the realization that he's naked now. The girl jumps in surprise as the clothes land next to her. You all turn to look at him.

“Wash them.” Ivar grunts while tugging at the band holding the robe together to make sure that it covers as much as possible. The girl doesn't even look to you for confirmation before gathering them in her arms and scurrying out of the room. The men stay still, waiting for you to give further instructions.

“Fill the tub.” You order. They silently comply and then leave the room. You look at Ivar and gesture at the tub as if to say _g_ _et on with it_. He looks at the wooden tub longingly for a second, then forces himself to scowl again.

“What if I don't want to clean myself in your disgusting bath?” Your lips twitch in amusement.

“I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice; I don't let pigs in my bed.” Ivar lets out an angry hiss, though it seems to be mostly to make a show because immediately after he lowers himself from the chair and crawls towards the tub. He removes the robe and his cheeks turn a precious shade of red as he hears you let out a content sigh; the prince has grown even more mouthwatering since you accidentally saw him in a state of undress last year. You wait until he has settled down in the tub and dipped his head under water then move to sit on the floor behind him, bringing a comb and a small bottle with you. He hasn't heard you move over the sounds of water splashing as he furiously rubs away the mud from his face and he jumps in surprise when your hands begin to rub through his hair.

“What is that smell?” He asks suspiciously.

“That, little pig, is what people use to clean their hair. Have you never heard of such things before?” You say teasingly, knowing that he takes excellent care of his silky hair. Ivar scoffs.

“I have to smell like a woman too? Why don't you just take that servant girl into bed instead?”

“I do, sometimes.” You admit without any hesitation while continuing to rid his hair of mud. He stops in the middle of his movements and you wonder if he's picturing it. Then the prince huffs angrily and returns to cleaning himself.

 

His eyes follow you closely as you walk to the chair where he was seated earlier and pick up his cup of wine. You refill both cups, then sit down on the edge of the bed and hand him his drink. He's wearing the robe again but he hasn't bothered with tying it as tightly this time, which allows you a peak of his sculpted chest. You gulp down the rest of the wine and set the cup down on your bedside table. His eyes widen as you hike your nightgown up and straddle him. You place both of your palms against his exposed skin and he inhales sharply but doesn't protest. You let your palms rest there for a while, giving him some time to adjust. The moment your hands begin to move towards his nipples he shifts underneath you. He tries to conjure up a mask of anger but his true emotions are easy to see; nervousness, shyness. It is heartbreaking to see. He has proven himself worthy time and time again, especially since the death of his father, but still he thinks himself a lesser man who will only see pity in other's faces. You refuse to pity him, to treat him like some frail child. He moves again but you hurry to take his nipples between your fingers and he stills. The feeling of his manhood swelling against the inside of your thigh encourages you to continue.

“Now now, Ivar; don't be difficult. You remember the deal?” You ask softly. He only growls in response and you twist his nipples roughly, making the growl turn into a moan.

“I win, I get your uncle. You win, you get me.” He rasps and is rewarded with the feeling of your hand brushing through his hair; he closes his eyes and relaxes a bit. You remember the shock in his face when he realized that you didn't want to imprison and torture him if you won, like he intended to do with your uncle. No, you had meant something entirely different when you said you wanted him as your prize.

“Hmm. Remind me then; who won? “As you speak the last two words, you tap his nose with your pointer finger. He jerks his head back and snarls.

“Crazy cunt, I...” He doesn't get any further because your hand clashes against his cheek. The impact makes him groan and tilt to the side, his drink swaying dangerously in his hand. Ivar is still leaning away from you when you bury a hand in his thick hair and force him upright again with his back against the headboard.

“Who won?” He sucks in his bottom lip before whispering his answer.

“You, (y/n).” You reward him with a soft kiss on his full lips.

“Finish your drink.” He swallows the last drops and sets his cup to the side. You help relieve him off the robe, then reach for the scarf hanging from the headboard and slide it carefully, teasingly, over his wrists. To your shock, he brings his arms together without you having to order him and you swiftly secure the knot.

“Turn.” He moves so that he's on his stomach, allowing you to admire his back. There's a long, thin scar on his right shoulder blade and you trail it with your fingers.

“Your uncle did that when he tried to take Kattegatt.” Ivar mutters.

“Poor baby. Do you need me to kiss the boo boo?” You mock. This seems to hit a nerve because you can practically hear him roll his eyes.

“Listen, woman...” He starts and tries to turn under you; but his hands are tied and you are much quicker. You bite down on the scar and he gives up a loud screech while his body jerks violently. You hold on to his broad shoulders as he settles down again. Once he is somewhat calm you let the tip of your tongue tease at the scar and he moans.

“You are a pain in the ass, queen (y/n).” He mutters with something that might be admiration in his voice. You smile to yourself and swiftly roll off him, keeping your head next to his as you let your hand rapidly crack against his ass; one time on each cheek. The prince's body arches lightly and he gives up a small _oh_. He sinks back onto the mattress and turns his head to look at you. He looks confused, but only for a second; then he returns to his usual, demanding self.

“Do that again.” He orders. You pretend that he's going to get his wish and reposition. He smirks at you over his shoulder then buries his head in the furs again while waiting for you to deal another blow. Instead, you sink your teeth into one of his firm cheeks and he howls out loud. Ivar sputters something incoherent and you can barely make out that he's asking you _why_.

“You don't get to demand things here. If you want something you'll have to beg.” He presses his face down into the furs to muffle the whine that escapes him. The frustrated noises morph into a string of moans as you begin to soothe this bite too with your tongue. You continue to nip and bite at his skin, paying extra attention to any scars you can find; he doesn't have many because few people have managed to touch him on the battlefield. Once you're satisfied you issue a new command.

“On your back.” As soon as he has turned his eyes find yours and you lean down to press another kiss to his mouth. The taste of wine has faded now and he tastes only of himself. It is very tempting to stay like this, mouths pressed together, but you force yourself to pull back and Ivar whimpers as he's left wishing for more. You sit back on the bed, place your palms on each of his legs and gently spread them. He tenses again now that you are so close to his cock, nervous even though it is standing proudly. You settle on your stomach between his legs and teasingly brush your lips against his inner thighs. At first this only makes him tense more but as you continue, and he notices that he's not going soft, he lets out a relieved sigh. He speaks up in an unsteady voice.

“(y/n)...” He whines.

“Beg.” You remind him before pressing a few quick kisses to his balls. He takes a deep breath.

“Please, take care of my cock. It doesn't matter how, just please do it. I feel like I might burst and...” He gasps loudly when you press the next kiss to his tip. You open your mouth and slowly let him in, pausing to swirl your tongue around his length right beneath its head. He swears under his breath and you fight away the urge to giggle as you take more of him. It's definitely one of the largest cocks you've taken but you're still confident that you can handle having his entire length in your mouth. Ivar bucks his hips up and you instinctively wrap a hand around his base, stopping him from setting a pace that you can't keep up with. You release him from between your lips with a pop and bite down on his stomach. He squeaks in pain but takes the hint and forces his hips to fall back down on the bed. Once more you soothe the bite with your tongue and then turn your attention back to his cock. You go slowly, taking your time to first suck him into your cheek and then letting the head rub against the roof of your mouth, but eventually he hits the back of your throat. You suck your cheeks in, enveloping his length even more closely in the warmth and wetness of your mouth, and then begin to bob your head up and down. Going up, you glance at Ivar and see that his knuckles have gone white as he presses his restrained fists together and he is staring at the ceiling; cheeks and torso flushed red. You move up and down a few more times then Ivar's cock twitches and he arches his back, moaning loudly as his bitter seed fills your mouth. You swallow it down and wipe your mouth then hurry to remove your nightgown. Ivar has closed his eyes after his climax and doesn't react until he feels your legs on each side of him again. He opens his eyes again and the tiredness in them disappears as he sees that you're naked. You give him a few seconds to hungrily gaze at your body then drag your fingers over his scalp to get his attention.

“Do you want to thank me now?” He nods rapidly and you smile down at him. Placing a hand on his chest, you press down to make him lie flat on his back again. You stroke his hair one more time, then anchor both your hands on the headboard and begin to move further up his body. Soon, you feel his warm breath fanning against your sex and you scoot just a little further up, hovering right above his mouth. Ivar seems to have taken a cue from the way you have tended to his scars, because once he has pressed a soft kiss to your folds he lets his tongue sweep over them in one wide stroke. You whimper and rock your hips a little, egging him on. He lets out a pleased growl and lets his nose nuzzle between your legs. You let him continue exploring for a while but then decide to give him some guidance. You shift so that his nose brushes against your sensitive nub and let out a delighted squeal at the sensation. Ivar freezes between your legs for a moment as if to contemplate what just happened; then he decides that you must've enjoyed it and begins to flick his tongue back and forth on the nub. No one has done this before and the novel sensation is beyond pleasant. Words come rushing out before you can stop yourself.

“Yesss, such a good boy.” Ivar gasps as he hears these words and continues working between your legs, switching his attention between your nub and your folds a few times before finally pressing his tongue inside and fucking you with it. Words of encouragement and praise keep falling from your mouth and Ivar keeps a grueling pace until he sends you over the edge. You inhale sharply and drag your nails over the headboard while pressing down on his face. He continues lapping at your womanhood, not stopping until you make it impossible for him to keep going by slumping to the side. Ivar awkwardly turns to look at you as you settle down next to him with your back resting against the headboard.

“Have I made you happy?” He asks shyly with a softness in his eyes that you've never seen before.

“You did very well, Ivar.” You assure him and his face lights up. The arrogant man is gone, replaced by this sweet boy and the corners of your mouth turn upwards. He scoots a bit closer and presses the top of his head against your stomach. Once you've calmed down you remember that his hands still are bound and you reach down to untie the scarf. It is returned to its drawer and Ivar wipes his mouth then carefully feels at his wrists; they are a bit red but there are no other marks. You lie down next to him and tug at his shoulder to make him come closer. Ivar stops inspecting his skin and turns his attention to you, only hesitating a little before pressing his lips to yours. This time you let the kiss deepen, allowing yourself to fully enjoy his full lips and the taste of your juices still on his tongue. It doesn't take long before you notice that he's growing against your leg again and you groan into his mouth. You break the kiss and press a finger to his mouth to silence his protest.

“Do your arms hurt much?” He shakes his head in response.

“Can you hold yourself up over me?” He nods.

“Of course you can, you are very strong.” You coo while unashamedly groping at his arms. He blushes a little and eagerly listens to your instructions. You lie down on your back and Ivar positions between your legs before helping you lift them up. He enters you slowly and with a reverent look on his face while you keep as still as possible. When he is fully sheathed inside you he pauses to adjust to the feeling but only for a short while; then he begins pressing your knees to your chest and you find yourself praising him again for being such a good boy, following every instruction. His eyes seem to sparkle more and more with each word and he begins to move between your thighs; less shy now and little more confident. The first strokes are a bit clumsy but he soon finds both a good pace and the perfect spot.

“Gods you fit perfectly inside me.” You moan as his thrusts pushes you into the mattress. He sighs happily and adds some more strength to each stroke. While letting your hands wander over his arms and chest you tell him that you have never seen a body so perfectly sculpted, that you appreciate him taking such good care of himself.

“My Ivar is...” You don't finish the sentence because the waves of your orgasm comes crashing in; they effectively drown whatever words were about to come next and instead you claw at his shoulders. You smile lazily at Ivar as he continues thrusting until he finds his own release. He has the good sense to move aside rather quickly so that you can stretch your legs out again. You turn on your side and pull the panting Ivar close. He rests his head at the crook of your neck while you find a fur to cover you both. You begin to soothe him, helping him to recover from the very emotional events. The prince doesn't speak, only presses further into your hands as you pet his hair and press kisses to his reddened wrists. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep and your own eyelids are starting to feel heavy. A few minutes later, you drift off too and for the first time in almost a year you're not dreaming about the ongoing struggle for power between you and Ivar's families. Instead, you see a girl with familiar blue eyes sitting next to Ivar in a boat. She looks young, maybe fifteen. She listens eagerly as the older Ivar, with a scar through his right eyebrow, tells her something. Then someone calls out and she hurries to stand up, a hungry smile spreading across her face as she looks at something you can't see.


End file.
